TimePetals Drabbles
by Lizzy Lovegood
Summary: Doctor and Rose ficlets and drabbles based off of Tumblr prompts.
1. Next Stop

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "restless."

 **. . .**

 **Next Stop**

He releases her hand when they reach her bedroom. He hugs her for his standard 8.3 seconds. He kisses her on the forehead if it has been a particularly grueling day, lips rarely brushing the bridge of her nose.

His palms itch and he sticks them in his pockets. Her eyes are on his back, the prickling hairs on the nape of his neck tell him so. He doesn't slow his pace - if he does, he will be compelled to join her. She is a temporary distraction as much as the console room, the library, his bedroom, where he spends the wee hours of the morning.

He wonders if she snores, if she sleeps on her back or her side, if she would nestle her head into his shoulder or mold her back to his front. He wonders how it would feel to wake up next to her.

He clutches the console, the couch, the comforter that doesn't do its job. She think it's so easy, their 2 AM taxi ride that they can't ride home in together. Her stop is coming soon.


	2. Irregular Orbit

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "irregular orbit."

 **. . .**

 **Irregular Orbit**

When Rose wakes up, the sheets are cold. If she gets up now, she'll find the Doctor in the kitchen, whisking eggs or flipping pancakes. He'll knock on her door, firmly closed against anything that could disturb her too-human sleep cycle, softly call her name.

This is how it goes.

There will be the obligatory brush of his fingers when she asks for the jam, his hand on her shoulder as she puts away dishes, to keep her from backing up into him.

Closer and closer he comes with each passing day. Hugs and handholds, kisses and caresses, incrementally forwards and back, till he is close enough to touch. More than touch. An instant that sets the flickering spark between them alight, burning bright as the sun before he recoils, burnt, retreating into the dark, starting the cycle again.

When Rose wakes up, the sheets will be cold.


	3. Reread

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "everyday magic." Of course, I had to do something with Harry Potter. :)

 **Reread**

When Rose lets slip that she has never read the Harry Potter series, the Doctor is horrified. He cancels all of their plans for the day, her guide instead into a world of witches and wizards, magic and midnight duels, an evil that lurks at the edge of the page, dismissed like disappearing walls and fractional train platforms if not for the discerning corner of someone's eye, all from the safety of the library sofa where they sit, gravitating closer to the center with each riffle of pages.

"That was brilliant."

He grins. "Told you you'd like it."

"I _loved_ it."

"Yeah? Would you, er, like to read the next one?"

"If you do. You must've read these a million times by now."

"Some stories have their own brand of magic, Rose Tyler." His arms wrap tight around her, pulling her closer still. "You can't help but be drawn to them."

Rose waits for the page to turn.


	4. Forget

**A/N:** Written for the Time Petals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's theme was "wizard." And again with the Harry Potter. This one is actually Barty Crouch/Rose, hope you enjoy! :)

 **. . .**

 **Forget**

Rose Tyler is magical. No wand at Ollivanders ever chose her. She can't transform a tortoise into a snuffbox or brew a cure for boils. All useless in the face of the power Rose wields with a paintbrush and palette - sweeps of scarlet and gray for the Hogwarts Express and its billows of smoke, silver and green for his dormitory, his tousled brown hair and bright white smile when he tells her about all these places, the closest she can ever come.

This last she gives him in lieu of a portrait of herself, folded away carefully under a stack of Father-approved textbooks.

"So you don't forget what's beautiful about you."

"Only if you don't," he says.

She does.

And as his father rages about all the paperwork he will have to fill out, what this will do to his reputation, how he will smooth this over, Barty lets himself forget, too.


	5. Joy

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's theme was "joy."

 **Joy**

The Doctor is grateful for the pain if only for what comes after.

Wandering the streets of twenty-first century London, reluctantly lonely and alone, at just the right time to find Rose Tyler's hand to hold.

Dropping down into the pit, unknown depths below and his faith miles above, a terrifying exhilaration almost worth it for the desperate press of Rose's lips to his, a different sort of leap altogether.

Sneaking to his spot on the sofa bed after another unsuccessful night in the lab and stubbing his toe on the coffee table, cursing the foibles of this useless human body till Rose wakes, wrapping her arms around him and kissing it better, whispering the words she hasn't said since the beach and that he is lucky enough to return.

Every second without her worth it for the sight of Rose, sheened in sweat, radiant, their daughter cradled to her breast. She offers her up to him and, beaming, he accepts, arms full of Joy.


	6. Unspoken

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "tell me."

 **. . .**

 **Unspoken**

Tell me. Ceaseless since the beach, he prays even now to the only thing he believes in who emerges from the ensuite, barefaced and dripping hair, to slip quickly under the covers beside him. A race against the pervasive cold of this drafty bed-and-breakfast and an uncertain victory as Rose's chilled toes brush over his.

He squeaks.

"Careful with those!"

It doesn't stop him from pulling her closer.

"Guess you should've worn socks to bed, shouldn't you?" Tongue and teeth flash in a silly grin. She settles herself comfortably against his chest where his single heart beats double-time and works in tandem with his head for the right reply.

She kisses him. It's softer than this first day but more desperate than that blissful last morning. It's a promise of what will become habit. It tells the Doctor everything even as her eyes drift closed and she wishes him goodnight.


	7. One Day Later

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "sloth."

I imagine this to be a kinda-sorta sequel to "How Doomsday Didn't Happen."

 **. . .**

 **One Day Later**

A pile of dirty laundry is lumped in the corner, sweaters and denims, vest tops and lacy underthings she wore, up till twelve hours ago, just to see him blush and stutter. Now torn off her, they rest somewhere in the folds of the sheets along with the Doctor's swirly tie and pinstriped trousers, their cuffs still stuck in the tongue of his tightly-knotted trainers.

The bazoolium sits on Rose's nightstand, next to her alarm clock and yesterday's unwashed tea things. Briefly inspired to prepare this repast, distraction soon struck the Doctor again in the form of her bare breasts and jam-sticky toast crumbs.

The calendar above her bed marks off the last time they stopped at the Powell Estate, a reminder of her humanity. The Doctor is below her in bed, hairy (manly) chest to her cheek, soft snores ruffling her bedhead, a reminder of his.

London can wait another day.

Jackie and the Pete's World crew destroy the Daleks and Cybermen with tea and baseball bats.


	8. The Necessity of B-Movie Sequels

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "spooky."

Happy Halloween!

 **. . .**

 **The Necessity of B-Movie Sequels**

Of the 5,386,214 channels available on the TARDIS telly, thirteen are dedicated to nonstop marathons of B-grade horror flicks. From October first through the thirty-first, evil put to rest for the day, Rose and the remote are inseparable. Fuzzy blanket and bowl of crisps beckoning, the Doctor has no choice but to join her, watching artificial ghosts and masked murderers track their way across the screen seeking vengeance on unsuspecting campers or suburbanites.

"You're going to give yourself nightmares," he warns when Rose's giggles turn into shrieks and she hides her face in his chest, her protector against visible boom mics and sprays of ketchup.

"Not as long as you're here," she says, and blinks up at him all doe-eyed.

It's poor acting on both their parts, enough to rival any B-movie cast and just another thing to giggle over as the miraculous and plot hole-filled _Return of Dead Man...KILLING_ fills the screen, an evil that can't touch them so long as they stay snuggled together.


	9. Dreamless

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "exhaustion."

 **Dreamless**

There are nights the Doctor craves Rose wrapped around him, when her flannel-clad thighs and tickling exhalations of breath prove too much to resist and he lays aside his choice of nighttime reading, giving in with some unease only to find his breaths come easier once their limbs are properly tangled together.

There are nights the Doctor considers another regeneration, when crumpled tissues litter the rumpled bedspread and Rose can hardly keep up with his pleas for tea and toast and the transcription of his last will and testament, all while never leaving his side because if he's going to die, he can't be alone.

There are nights the Doctor cries after still another sleepless hour, when his eyelids, heavy with exhaustion he shouldn't feel but does, peel slowly open and he prays that Rose will come to claim the purple blouse clutched tight to his chest before he remembers he's awake.


	10. Skate

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "graceful." Since I started decorating for the holidays today, I thought I'd do something a bit Christmas-y themed. :)

 **Skate**

The Doctor is scared of very few things. Losing Rose Tyler is one. Ice-skating is another.

Right now, he is facing both. Thin pieces of metal strapped to his feet, a questionable method of propulsion across this death trap of a rink which he clutches the handrail of, clunking along parallel to Rose and the ginger bloke in an ugly Christmas sweater who caught her at an uneven spot of ice and she now glides effortlessly alongside.

She spots him trying not to glare and skates over to where he's stopped, knees trying not to knock together.

"Did you want to try or are you just jealous?"

Over her shoulder, the ginger bloke does a pirouette.

"You just have to let go, Doctor. Once you get going, it's not scary anymore." She demonstrates, away then back again, hand extended, gloved fingers wiggling.

The Doctor slips forward, free of support, arms pinwheeling. Before he can fall, Rose has his hand clasped in hers.

"Skate," she whispers.


	11. Table for Two

**A/N:** Written as part of my 250 Follower Celebration for lunaseemoony over on Tumblr who requested "Nine/Rose, making something together."

 **Table for Two**

It's been a long time since the TARDIS kitchen has seen use for more than a cup of unsweetened tea or reheated chips, limp and cold on the inside. Not that the Doctor _can't_ cook but any enjoyment that comes with preparing a gourmet meal is ruined in paring down the recipe to a single serving or else have leftovers for the next fortnight.

"Take that one off the burner," he says over his shoulder.

"Which one?"

" _That_ one." He points with the hand not busy whisking and Rose reaches for the pan's still-hot handle. When she grimaces, fingers spasming, he snatches it from her, setting the sauteed vegetables on a bright pink potholder.

He hands the matching oven mitt to Rose and she slips it on, making puppet faces at him with her thumb and four fingers.

"You know, I was fine with just pasta."

"And _I_ said we don't make _just_ anything on my ship, Rose Tyler."

Rose laughs. "So you decided to make a five-course meal? We'll be eating leftovers for weeks."

From the cutlery drawer, the Doctor takes out two knives, two forks, two spoons. He ducks when Rose swings open the cupboard above his head for plates and glasses, balanced precariously with one pink-mitted hand.

"We've got time."


	12. Out in the Open

**A/N:** Written as part of my 250 Followers Celebration for sequencefairy over on Tumblr who requested "Ten/Rose, things you do behind closed doors." Happy Birthday, lovely! :)

 **Out in the Open**

No less than five girls have asked the Doctor for a dance, Tommy's counted. Everyone's giddy after Queen Elizabeth's coronation, not to mention Tommy's dad's dethroning, and are eager to show the Doctor their gratitude. But he's only got eyes for Rose.

The whole party his hand never leave hers. His eyes only flit away from her face to grab another nibble or glass of champagne. Rose laughs when a bit of spray cheese slides off his cracker and smears his tie and cleans it up with the finger of her free hand which she pops into her mouth. The Doctor laughs and points to his lower lip like she's missed some but Rose must not understand because he cups her cheek to wipe it away himself and tilts her face up until their lips meet.

It's a kiss longer than the ones Tommy's parents share but it looks softer than those ones, too. There isn't a cost associated with it, no price to be paid - the perfect Sunday dinner or a new dress pattern. It's just love.

"The pair of them." Tommy's grandmother shakes her head. "If that Doctor hadn't just saved the world, I'd say something, I would."

"What's wrong, Gran?"

"Necking where anyone can see. There _are_ children here. Don't look, Tommy."

A new tune has started up, fast-paced and fun, and the Doctor is pulling Rose out into the crowd of couples, spinning her round and round till she gets dizzy and they fall against each other, laughing. They look happier than Tommy's parents ever were and he wonders what's wrong with that.


	13. Imperfect

**A/N:** Written as part of my 250 Followers Celebration for goingtothetardis over on Tumblr who requested "Ten/Rose, getting caught in the rain somewhere."

 **Imperfect**

In the few seconds it takes him to shrug off and hand to Rose, the Doctor's suit jacket is soaked through. Tenting the pinstriped fabric above her head, an impromptu umbrella, Rose is grateful for the Doctor's insistence on his usual pinstripes over the canvas shorts and touristy T-shirts displayed every few meters.

Long fingers splayed across the base of her spine, the Doctor's hand is a welcome warmth against the clingy fabric of her vest top, and Rose leans gratefully into his side. It does nothing to assuage his guilty frown as he guides Rose down the empty street and underneath a shop awning. Bright red billboards, striking in the sudden, enveloping gray, proclaim the sparkling wares within as "70% Off." The saleswomen behind the counter are eyeing them hungrily and Rose quickly turns her back to the glass, hoping the Doctor didn't notice.

The Doctor sighs and it's obvious he hasn't. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"It rains everywhere, Doctor."

"Not here, it shouldn't. Not now." He huffs, narrowed eyes softening as he turns from the stormy sky. "It should only be another few minutes then we can go back to the TARDIS. I'll find us some place better."

" _Here_ is better," says Rose, even though she hasn't a clue what he means. Or what she means, for that matter.

"Better than what?"

"It's just a bit of rain."

"Better than what?" he asks again, unfair considering she lets him get away with avoiding questions all the time.

"I dunno." Her cheeks are burning, Rose imagines they must be bone-dry by now. "Yesterday?" They had to share a cramped coat closet for hours on end for which the Doctor was eager to offer a massage. "Sunday at Mum's?" They fought over what to watch on telly and the roast was burnt but the Doctor didn't say a word, surreptitiously sonicing off the worst bits. "Every day just gets better."

"With two?" asks the Doctor. He's fumbling in the pocket of his jacket, still held between them, till he finds what he's looking for and sinks to one knee.

Rose nods. The ring is a tight fit on her damp skin but it sits like it was always meant to be there and they stare at each other, starry-eyed, before the Doctor remembers he should probably kiss her first.


	14. Other Reasons for Intestinal Distress

**A/N:** Written as part of my 250 Followers Celebration for timelordinvictus over on Tumblr who requested "Tentoo/Rose and a misunderstanding of some kind."

 **Other Reasons for Intestinal Distress**

The Doctor is jolted awake to a blast of cold air on his thighs, goosebumps sprouting up in its wake, as Rose shoves back the covers.

"Rose?" Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he reaches for her but she's already stumbling away, round his side of the bed and into the en suite. Through the blinds, the sky is still dark but even in the dim light he can see the hand Rose holds clutched to her mouth.

Doing his best to ignore the taunting red _4:07_ the Doctor follows, just in time to catch the toilet lid that Rose has slammed up before it bounces back to hit her. The other alternates between her back and the flyaway hairs that stick to her damp cheeks, whispering soothing nothings till her retches turn into dry heaves and she rests her forehead against the cool porcelain.

"You alright?"

She nods but silent tears still track their way down her cheeks. The Doctor wipes them away with a damp cloth and she leans gratefully into his touch.

"Sorry."

He wraps an arm around her waist to help her stand, supporting her the few feet back to bed. "Not your fault. More mine, actually."

"I was the one who wanted to go out last night."

"Oh, Rose, don't go feeling guilty about that." The Doctor bows his head to press a kiss to her temple, tucking the covers snugly around her. "A single glass of wine won't hurt the baby."

"What?"

" _What_ what?"

"What baby?"

" _The_ baby," says the Doctor. "The baby you're carrying, the baby you just woke up with morning sickness from. Our little son or daughter."

"Not unless they're salmonella."

"Well," the Doctor forces a smile, "we have nine months to work out a name, don't we?"

"No." Rose shakes her head, a small, sad smile on her lips which the Doctor wants desperately to kiss away. "Doctor. Salmonella. Food poisoning. Jake said he got sick at that place but I wanted to check it out anyway."

"Oh." Eyes fixed on the floor, tips of his ears burning, the Doctor shuffles back to his side of the bed and lies down, staring at the ceiling.

"At least you're not sick. I was worried."

"I'm fine, Rose."

"I didn't even know you wanted-"

He nods at a crack in the molding but turns to her when she reaches for his hand. "I chose the slow path, Rose. I chose you. I want whatever you want." She reaches for his hand underneath the covers and he turns to her, eyes crinkling in a brief smile even though he knows she sees the lie in his forced flippancy.

"And if I want to try?"

The Doctor beams. "Then we can even name them Salmonella if you want."


	15. Nothing Like It

**A/N:** Written as part of my 250 Followers Celebration for tenroseforeverandever over on Tumblr who requested "any Doctor/Rose and bubble wrap."

 **Nothing Like It**

The ground pops under Rose's feet but for once she doesn't find the Doctor's hand instantly in hers, dragging her out of danger and into the safety of the TARDIS. Most days, she appreciated the heroics but lately the Doctor quantified the sparrows outside her mum's window a threat and had insisted on scanning her eight times for avian flu.

This latest planet is the first he's left her side longer than it takes for Rose to take two steps out the TARDIS doors. While he did perform a quick scan to confirm that the bubble wrap, cotton balls, and population of amorphous Pillow People were benign, he's now bounded on ahead, looking more relaxed than Rose has seen him in months. If all she has to do is put up with sounding a bit gassy, then it's a deal she'll gladly take. No one's around to judge anyhow save the man who is, in part, to blame for the excessive gas, swollen ankles, and 3 AM pee breaks.

Blamed or credited, she hasn't decided yet.

The Doctor skids to a stop and turns to face her, arms spread wide.

"Come on, Rose!" he calls and bounces on the balls of his feet, as if he doesn't know this is the fastest her waddles get nowadays. But it's been so long since he's smiled this way, laughing at each _pop_ of outer space air-filled bubbles beneath his trainers.

A few duck-footed steps and he's bounced forward to clasp hands, swinging them just south of the swell of her belly.

"Jump, Rose! Go on! Nothing like popping bubble wrap!"

There really isn't. So she joins him, bobbing up and down, laughing because he's laughing or he's laughing because she's laughing. In the distance, a few Pillow People are watching them the same way Rose would tourists gaping at the London Eye or Big Ben. She wonders how long it takes for wonders to become ordinary or if it's eventually the ordinariness that makes them wonderful, a piece of life so integral you can't imagine a day without it.

Their son shifts inside her, eager to join in on the fun.

"Told you!" crows the Doctor. His palm is pressed over the spot where the baby's hand should be. "Nothing like it! Oh, I should've brought you here _ages_ ago. It's so . . . cathartic, don't you think? Great place to stock up on some for the TARDIS, too." Their destination now the fluffy-looking town on the horizon, he shortens his strides to match Rose's slower pace.

"I should have done that ages ago, too, come to think of it. All those rough landings. Hit the railing the wrong way, the console-" He drifts off into dire predictions of times past which she tries to drown out with the sound of each step.

She needs all the catharsis she can get.


	16. Pinstripes

**A/N:** Written as part of my 250 Followers Celebration for jeeno2 over on Tumblr who requested "Ten/Rose, she catches him in an embarrassing situation."

 **Pinstripes**

The Doctor has nothing to wear. Racks upon racks of clothing, arranged by time period and planet, and none of it good enough for Rose Tyler.

The TARDIS suggests a sporty tuxedo which is too James Bond-ish for his taste. Rose already has a crush on Pierce Brosnan and he sees no need to remind her of that.

He pulls a floor-length robe and white button-up from the rack before rejecting these as well. Rose signed on to travel with a Time Lord, not another dorky Harry Potter fanboy.

There's always his old leather jacket and jumper to fall back on . . . if he wants to guarantee Rose's refusal to travel with him. Why would she stick around for a man who insists on reminding her at every turn that she'd never have her big-eared, blue-eyed Doctor back?

He wonders if Howard will mind his keeping the dressing gown and jim-jams. A bit eccentric but if Rose wants eccentric that's what she'll get. _No arguments from me_ still rings hopefully in his head.

"Rose," he says to the full-length mirror. Even this single word comes out hoarse and the Doctor clears his throat, scowling at his reflection which more resembles a homeless person than Rose's suave guide across the stars.

"My offer still stands," he tries again, to a mannequin dressed in a blue chiton. "If you'd like to travel with me, there's nothing I'd like more. But only if you'd like, I wouldn't like you to if you wouldn't . . . er, like."

The mannequin is silently judging him.

"Oh, what do you know?" The Doctor aims a kick at a pair of discarded dress shoes, missing by several inches. He swears he can hear the TARDIS laughing.

But it isn't the TARDIS, it's Rose and the sight of her here, in their home, drives all resentment clean from his mind, quickly replaced by overwhelming humiliation.

"Rose!" There's a pile of castoff trousers and T-shirts on the floor and he shoves them onto the first shelf he sees.

"Everything alright?"

"Fine!" he says brightly. "Just . . . didn't expect you so soon, is all. Not that you're not welcome here! More than welcome! _Mi TARDIS es su TARDIS_ , all that. If you want. Is dinner ready?"

"Not yet," she says after a moment's thought. "Mum wasn't sure we'd show so she's starting from scratch. Mickey's helping."

"She cut your hair, too, I see." It's shoulder-length now, a slightly different hue than she usually dyes it now that he looks closer.

"Oh. Um . . ."

"I like it," he assures her but she still looks so nervous that he doesn't even remark on the new leather jacket and dark trousers she's changed into. "Not like I have any right to judge, is it? Bit more than a makeover, this."

"I still want to travel with you, Doctor."

Hearts in his throat, it takes far too long for the Doctor to form words, milliseconds minutes and seconds hours that could be spent doing far more enjoyable things than gaping like a fish.

"You do?"

"'Course I do. Just ask me."

"Didn't I?"

"Woo a girl a little, would you?" This time the TARDIS _is_ laughing at him. "After dinner. We'll get it all sorted with Mum or she'll make you regenerate for stealing me away again. I like this you."

"Do you?" The Doctor wonders if he has become incapable of all speech save for superfluous questions. Rose doesn't answer but she doesn't look annoyed either; he can't wrap his head around what she looks like. There's a small smile on her face, similar to his, but her eyes are sad and her hands clench and unclench in arrested action till she shoves them into the pockets of her new jacket.

Out of one, she pulls her phone. She flips it open, frowns, presses a few buttons, and shuts it again.

"Jackie?"

"I'd better get back." She walks backwards towards the door, wiggling her fingers in farewell.

"Alright. I'll see you later."

"Yep." Almost as an afterthought, Rose points to a suit hung on the Doctor's left, brown with blue pinstripes running along the length. "Try that one."

The Doctor does.

Later, her hair is long again.


	17. Never Again

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "never again."

 **Never Again**

Getting lost isn't a new experience for the Doctor but today he doesn't have time to enjoy it. All he wanted was a couple of coffees and cinnamon buns to split with Rose before they started unpacking boxes and rearranging furniture. The bakery should have been right down the street - Rose pointed it out yesterday - but somehow two blocks turned into twelve, identical squares of brick and concrete whichever way he turns.

The warm and sticky cinnamon buns are sticking to the inside of the bag by the time he makes it back to the flat, and their coffees have gone cold though the Doctor still sips at one out of reflex. Rose nearly knocks both out of his hands in her haste to embrace him, then smacks his shoulder.

"Where _were_ you?"

He babbles something about breakfast.

"And you couldn't have left a note? Called?" She clutches her mobile in an unsteady grip.

He mutters something to his shoes about how he'd hoped not to be gone this long.

"I thought you _left_ , Doctor." Her voice is trembling now, too, and he pulls her back into a hug.

"Never," he whispers into her hair. "Never again."


	18. Sympathetic Freeze

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "ice."

 **Sympathetic Freeze**

Even after the Doctor has watched Rose drop out of sight, sudden as the crack that splits the ice, and that disappears too quickly for the Doctor to dive in after her, leaves him clawing at the tiny, air-giving gap till he remembers the sonic in his pocket.

Even after he fishes her out by the sodden hood of her sweatshirt that he warned her wouldn't be warm enough and which he strips off her now in favor of his own long overcoat while she coughs and gasps for air, the blue tips of her fingers seeking reassurance in his tense arms, wrapped tight around her in his sprint back to the TARDIS.

Even after he's piled every blanket his ship will offer - and some she doesn't, after Rose regains some coherency, insisting she's fine between sneezes and chattering teeth - atop the mattress lined with hot water bottles, plied her with enough tea and soup to feed an army till she fakes sleep to escape his coddling.

Her exaggerated snores turned to soft exhalations hours ago and her cheeks are warm and pink again, same as the rest of her but he can't stop watching, now and then rubbing the fingers clasped firmly with his. He still feels so cold.


	19. Let It Snow

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "snow."

 **Let It Snow**

Three days after Christmas, it snows for real. Rose, who had cast the ashmen and angel silhouettes of Christmas night morbid looks, is enthralled by the falling flakes, nose and cheeks pressed to the windowpane like a girl half her age.

The Doctor joins her.

"You'd think she'd never seen snow before," comments Jackie over the adverts of her afternoon soaps.

"It's different here," says Rose.

There are still some fall leaves on the ground and these are the first to go, then bicycles and baseball bats, trash bins and Christmas trees left out on the curb, a stretch of unending white to be disturbed soon by shovels and plows, unburying what Rose knows is already there.

A group of boys is already trooping up the street, shoveling out drives for ten quid apiece. A middle-aged man in a parka is scraping the snow off his windshield. The boys start harassing him and he shoos them away till an impromptu snowball fight breaks out. Rose laughs, reaching for her boots and coat.

The Doctor is right behind her.


	20. Midnight

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "sparkle."

 **Midnight**

On their one-year anniversary, according to Rose's calendar, the Doctor takes her to the planet Midnight, made of diamonds. He's booked them first-class tickets for one of the planet's many sightseeing tours and a table for two at the anti-gravity restaurant; then, when Rose flashes him her best Bambi eyes, flashes his psychic paper at the spa attendant for a few hours of pampering.

Rose gets a facial and a mani-pedi - blue with silvery sparkles the manicurist says are mined from one of the diamond glaciers - and plays wing-woman for Jack till it's time to join the Doctor for dinner. There's a dress waiting for her in the spa's changing room, one of her favorites from the wardrobe back home that she's never gotten a chance to wear but fits like a glove.

There's a twinkle in the Doctor's blue eyes as he offers her his arm and ushers her to their table, candles and bibs hovering in midair. It's a look more precious to Rose than all of Midnight, makes her _feel_ more precious than it all, and almost enough to drive from her mind the sad, red-haired woman picking up an order to-go.


	21. Practice

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "Ten/Rose, behaving like children inside a sweet shop, bonus points for ball bearings" and was prompted by excusemewhileiwagmytaiol on Tumblr.

 **Practice**

Each and every cupcake on the stack of silver tiers is impressed with two identical fingerprints. One for the Doctor to taste and one for him to offer Rose in lieu of the forks the harried-looking manager proffers and the Doctor dismisses with a request for edible ball-bearings.

An assistant produces them and he sprinkles them liberally over the first tray of cupcakes. The manager winces and Rose reminds herself to leave an extra-large tip on the credit stick.

"What's this one again?" He picks up a yellow-frosted cupcake, sniffs it, takes a bite. " _Ooh_ , yes - banana, how could I forget! Do you like this one, Rose?" He smushes the cake to her lips, brows waggling, and Rose takes a bite; it leaves a buttercream-and-ball-bearing mustache behind mirrored on his own face.

"Perfect." She stands on tiptoe to kiss the yellow sugar off his upper lip. "Good practice."

He orders a dozen cupcakes to go. By the time the wedding rolls around, he says, they'll be old pros at this.


	22. Tea and Biscuits

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "sympathy."

 **Tea and Biscuits**

Once the Doctor has ascertained that Rose is suffering from nothing more than muscle strain, and is assured by Rose that the heating pad and deep-tissue massage _and_ paracetamol are more than enough - so there's no need for the saline drip, ta - he offers to make them both a cuppa.

"Biscuits too, Rose!" he tries to sweeten the deal, but Rose shakes her head and mumbles something about sleep. Tea and biscuits remind her too much of her mum right now, and her mum is trapped in a parallel universe, gone to Rose forever.

The pills don't make her tired like she'd hoped and she's lived with the Doctor long enough for him to know when she's faking sleep, particularly when her breath wavers at every exhale. By the time he's opened her door and tiptoed to the bed, stroking her hair and whispering her name, she's shuddering with the effort, jaw clenched. She's glad he can't see her face.

"I'm sorry," is all she can manage after several minutes of this.

The hand in her hair stops mid-stroke. "Sorry?" he repeats. "What for?"

"You've lost so many people. Your family, your friends . . ."

"Exactly. And I know how it feels." The Doctor moves from the edge of the bed to lie behind her; the hand not in her hair wraps around her waist, pulling her close. "It hurts as much the first as it does the fiftieth time, Rose. You're allowed to feel."

"But you've lost _so many_ people," she says again. "And Mum's not even dead, not really, she's just . . ."

"Not here," finishes the Doctor. That's all he needs to say.

Rose starts to sob.


	23. Impossible

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme over on Tumblr. This week's prompt was "astonished."

Set immediately post-Satan Pit

 **Impossible**

It wasn't possible.

Not that they had walked and talked and slept on a lump of rock orbiting a black hole. Leave it to humans.

Not that Rose Tyler had killed the devil. Of _course_ she had.

Not that the TARDIS had appeared just in the nick of time to save Captain Zach and his ship and _his_ Rose Tyler from plunging into that black hole. The old girl had always had a flair for the dramatic. Well, so did he.

It was that Rose was kissing him. Her lips were on his lips and her arms were wound round his neck and every inch of her was plastered to every inch of his orange spacesuit. Kissing and kissing and kissing; he thought this must have been how Ida had felt with barely enough room to breathe but he'd take kissing Rose over some demon's antechamber any day. Not Cassandra, not Bad Wolf, but Rose Rose _Rose_. . . He might be losing air but she was giving it to him, too, his own pink-and-yellow oxygen canister. Was that romantic?

All too possibly, her lips disengaged from his with a _pop_ , her arms dropped limply to her sides, mirroring his. She looked a cross between humiliated and horny - ooh, this body was a randy sod, too.

"Sorry . . . erm, I'm just gonna-"

Her _oh_ of surprise was muffled against his lips.


	24. Not So Innocent

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme, this week's prompt was "innocent." Managed 100 words exactly this time!

 **Not So Innocent**

The Doctor grimaced, a self-recriminating reminder that Rose didn't wear those jim-jams to torment him. She was his best mate, not his lover; she was twenty years old, a child to his nine-hundred ( _closer to a thousand,_ his conscience insisted on reminding him). They were soft and pink, her favorite color, not to be sexualized under any circumstances. If either happened to ride up, a flash of back dimples or the curve of her arse, then the least he could do was avert his eyes.

Rose hugged the Doctor goodnight, suppressing a sigh. How long was this going to _take_?


	25. No Competition

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "rivalry."

 **No Competition**

For one hour of the five-odd the Doctor is gone, Rose goes to the library. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, and Mickey with his pitying glances isn't being much of a friend at the moment so why not research the French court's royal prostitute?

Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson - later Madame de Pompadour - was, it turned out, much more than King Louis' mistress. She was his "little queen," his equal and confidante in matters within and out of the bedroom. She was intelligent and poised, an actress well-versed in enticing a man to dance.

No wonder the Doctor kissed her.


	26. Snazzy

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "embarrassment."

 **. . .**

 **Snazzy**

"Who's that?"

"Well, that's Adric and Nyssa and-"

"No. _Him_."

"Oh. Friend of mine."

"Why's he wearing that?"

"I imagine he thought it was snazzy."

"Snazzy?"

"You're one to talk, Miss Union-Flag-Top-During-the-Blitz."

Rose shrugs. "What's his name?"

"Uhm . . . Slips the mind right now, you know."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Just a one-off. Couldn't tell you where. I'm an old man, Rose. Things fade."

"Pity. He's quite handsome."

"Is he?"

"Classically so."

The Doctor giggles. "That's _me_."

"I _know_." Rose slaps his hand. "You lied to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Do you still have the outfit?"


	27. Power Surge

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "pleased."

 **. . .**

Yax tapped at the energy meter with one finger, brow furrowed. These readings couldn't be right.

"What is it, Yax?" asked Pol from the front desk.

"These results," said Yax. He peered at the dial from a different angle. "It's the slow season and they're off the charts."

Pol glanced at the readout then consulted the guestbook. "No. Those are right."

"But - but . . ." Yax snatched the book from her, flipping through it. Only two names are on it: _The Doctor and_ _Rose Tyler_. "There's only one couple in the whole hotel! No one could _possibly_ generate that many- This is enough to power half the township!"

Looking pleased as punch, Pol composes an email to their supervisor. "You're new here, aren't you?"


	28. The Oncoming Storm

**A/N:** Written for the TimePetals 100 Weekly Theme. This week's prompt was "boisterous."

 **. . .**

 **The Oncoming Storm**

 _ **boisterous:**_ _ **(of wind, weather, or water) wild or stormy**_

It was his fault. He'd ignored the darkening clouds and the sharp scent of ozone till the soft, steady drizzle became a downpour that soaked Rose to the bone in minutes.

They sought shelter in a nearby motel - where the receptionist glared balefully at their mud-soaked trainers - despite Rose's protests.

"Honest, Doctor, I don't mind the walk-"

"You'll catch your death, Rose Tyler." His throat clenched and he busied himself with tuning down the blankets of the single twin-bed. "Or at least pneumonia, and I don't fancy Jackie's reaction to that."

Rose snorted but climbed obligingly under the covers (and his sonicked-dry overcoat for extra warmth). She patted the small bit of space next to her; shedding his tie and oxford, the Doctor obeyed.

Rain hammered on the rickety roof and through the yellowing blinds, the Doctor could see lightning strike with a crash of thunder. Beside him, Rose's breath evened out into sleep, her head reassuringly heavy against his two hearts.

He wished that this was the worst storm they would have to weather.


End file.
